


I'm Proud of Us

by Murder_Kitten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring, Domestic Fluff, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Memories, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23073214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murder_Kitten/pseuds/Murder_Kitten
Summary: A grief stricken Sam is left devastated after Dean's death at Metatron's hands. Castiel comes to the rescue. But can he get through to Sam in Dean's absence?
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. You Should be Here

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: the characters do not belong to me but are the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. No copyright infringement is intended. I make no profit from these works. All stories are for fun and entertainment only. 
> 
> I always welcome reviews/comments of people who enjoy my works. 
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read. I hope you enjoy it.

__

_I_ _t’s better this way... The Mark… It’s turning me into something I never wanted to be… I’m proud of us…_

Sam Winchester heard the words echo in his head for the hundredth time. His hazel eyes snapped open as he jerked himself upright from his prone position. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to calm his racing heart. Dean’s tortured, bloodied face swam before his vision, and Sam blinked hard, willing the memory to bury itself.

He could remember every last second of that final night with his brother in excruciating detail. Sam’s lips trembled and a tightness squeezed his chest like an iron fist. A single tear drop fell from Sam’s lower lashes, tracing a line down his cheek. He swiped at his eyes furiously, biting his trembling lip hard enough to draw blood. He willed himself to be strong, not to break down. Dean had always been so strong. Even in his dying minutes, as his life and his blood drained out of him, Dean had been strong, clinging to his humanity. He’d always been so _good_ , never giving himself enough credit.

At the thought of him, Sam’s control faltered, the tears coming hot and fast as an intense grief shook him to his core. That wasn’t even the worst of it. No, the worst had come months ago and Sam was still haunted by it. Words exchanged between him and Dean, words that Sam would give his very life to take back. He could still hear Dean’s voice, clear as a bell.

If _the positions were reversed, if I was dying, you would do the same thing…_

Then came the words that Sam was haunted by, words that had come out of his mouth before he’d been able to stop them.

_No, Dean – I wouldn’t…_

He would give anything to take them back, anything! As he remembered his anger and his coldness to his brother at that time, regret and remorse clawed at Sam’s very soul.

* * *

Hours later, Castiel found him still enveloped in his grief. Hunched over, knees drawn up to his chest, head bowed, sitting on the floor of the war room and rocking back and forth in the throes of deepest heartache and remorse. Hovering awkwardly in the doorway, Castiel hesitated, momentarily stunned. Sam hadn’t noticed him yet, so wrapped up in the memories that tortured him, he was oblivious to his surroundings. Castiel stared at Sam, transfixed by the depths of the man’s pain. Wave upon wave of grief, self-loathing, anger and regret were rolling off Sam. Castiel could feel each emotion rising and falling like a shower of sparks impacting what little remained of his angelic grace. The seismic waves of anguish were so intense that Castiel gasped at the ferocity of it, staggering and almost falling for a moment under the sheer weight of heartrending agony. 

“Sam…” the angel called. “Sam?” he said more loudly, but the hunter didn’t so much as glance in his direction. “SAM!” Castiel said with all the volume he could muster, but Sam remained wrapped up in his own private ball of anguished grief.

Starting to feel really worried now, Castiel strode across the room to the hunter. He waved a hand in front of Sam’s face, calling his name to no avail. Castiel sighed deeply and frowned, wondering what to do. He had never seen Sam in this state before. He'd never seen him truly lost.

He gripped Sam’s shoulder tightly, resting one palm on his flushed tear-stained cheek. If only Dean were here… Dean would know just what to say to his brother.

“Sam! SAMMY!” Castiel shouted with sudden inspiration.

Sam gave a sharp shuddering gasp and jerked back, looking up into Castiel’s face. When Sam’s eyes met intense blue rather than the green irises of his brother, he closed his eyes and bowed his head, leaning on Castiel but not retreating back into a storm of grief. As the tears and violent tremors subsided, Sam’s eyes closed wearily.

The hunter and the angel sank to the floor, Castiel holding Sam, cradling his head against his shoulder, not sure what else to do at this moment. He didn’t know how long they sat huddled on the floor; he held Sam until the shudders subsided into occasional tremors that gave way to the odd twitch as Sam drifted into an exhausted sleep, held fast in the arms of an angel.

Castiel sat content, ever in his role as the Winchester’s guardian. As Sam drifted into a troubled but peaceful sleep, Castiel allowed his mind to wander and his hand to drift, resting it against Sam’s forehead to check his temperature. The angel absentmindedly brushed back a few silky strands of Sam’s hair. It was soft, like angel feathers, Castiel mused thoughtfully, remembering his wings as they used to be. Sam shifted in his sleep and Castiel instinctively tightened his grip, trying to infuse as much comfort into the gesture as he could. It was then that he noticed something hard pressing into his wrist.

Sliding his fingers across Sam’s shirt, Castiel realised he could feel Sam’s ribs and count them, the bones almost protruding from the skin. When was the last time he ate? Castiel wondered. It had been weeks since Dean disappeared, and with Sam in this unusual state of fragility, food was perhaps the farthest thing from his mind. He would have to do something about that when Sam woke. Maybe he could fix him PB&J. What did Sam like? Castiel had only ever seen Dean with burgers and beer. Sam was normally more nutrition conscious, opting for a salad or something similar – usually he looked after himself, something that had clearly fallen to the wayside in the wake of Dean’s death and disappearance. Well, Cas was here now, he wasn’t going anywhere. He would soon have Sam back on his feet – he owed Dean that much at least.


	2. Notes in Constellations

Sam Winchester woke up groggily, blinking his eyes wearily. The day hadn’t started and already he was tired, a deep heaviness settling in his limbs. He rubbed his eyes and sighed, _what was the point of it all?_ he thought miserably. Without Dean here, he was just existing. There was nobody else in his life to give him purpose or a reason to keep going. He was about to close his eyes and go back to sleep, his only escape from the world, when that smell filled his nostrils, coming from the blanket that covered him. _Dark chocolate and cumin. Castiel._

He opened his eyes again, realising it wasn’t a blanket that covered him, it was Castiel’s trenchcoat. Cas was here. Sam groaned at the thought. Cas had seen him in his broken, depressed, post-Dean, emotional wreck state. He put his head in his hands, mortified. Although, he reasoned, Cas had probably seen him do worse, demon blood for one. Annoyed, Sam sat up, the trenchcoat falling to the floor. A post-it note fluttered out of it and Sam leaned down to pick it up, curious.

_Sam,_

_Go to the kitchen._

_Castiel_

_Weird,_ Sam thought, wondering what on earth Castiel was up to. He didn’t have the energy for these games. He got to his feet with a heavy sigh and stumbled to the kitchen where he found another note on the table where Cas had set out a bowl, spoon, milk, cornflakes and a bottle of orange juice.

_Breakfast._

_Don’t forget to wash up._

Sam rolled his eyes, Castiel was such a mother hen. Reluctantly, he sat down to eat, knowing Castiel was not above spoon feeding him if he thought it was necessary. Sam poured some cornflakes into the bowl, splashing the milk on top and making a conscious effort to eat at least a few mouthfuls, though he had no appetite.

He eyed the orange juice with distaste. He would’ve preferred coffee, but he drank it anyway, pulling a face at the pulp. He carried his dishes to the sink to rinse. He appreciated that Cas was trying to look after him, he did, it was just—

Another note. This one stuck underneath his cereal bowl.

_Sam._

_Go to your room._

_Castiel._

Sam almost smiled, his lips twitching for an instant. Was he being grounded by Castiel? Shaking his head, he left his dishes in the sink and walked to his room, wondering what he was going to find. There was no note on the door, so he pushed it open and flicked the light on. Fresh clothes had been laid out on the bed which had been made. Jeans, a plain t-shirt, plaid shirt, jacket. A note lay on top.

_Shower._

Sam rolled his eyes, he could have surmised as much without the note. Resigned to the fact that Castiel would be hovering over him unless he started taking care of himself properly again, Sam picked up the clothes and made his way to the bathroom.

He half-smiled when he saw that Castiel had even found some of his favourite conditioner to leave out for him, next to a toothbrush, toothpaste and the can of spare deodorant he usually kept in his duffel bag. The angel had clearly gone to a lot of trouble to help Sam feel better and as much as Sam told himself he didn’t need any help, he was grateful.

Feeling refreshed after a hot shower, Sam made his way to the war-room next, following the directions of the note that had been stuck to the bathroom mirror. A set of car keys lay on top of yet another note. 

_Outside._

Accepting that he was on whatever goose chase Cas felt necessary, Sam pocketed his phone and keys, picking up Castiel’s trenchcoat to give back to him and climbing the stairs, pushing the heavy door open and making his way outside, where he found Castiel waiting for him.

Sam handed him the trenchcoat wordlessly, watching as the angel slipped it back on, all the while looking at Sam with concern. He looked a little better, but he wasn’t really. Cas knew that. Castiel opened the passenger door for him and Sam threw him a sceptical look, but slid into the seat as Castiel came round to the driver’s side.

“Where are we going?” Sam asked warily, handing him the car keys he’d found on the table, certain that Castiel wasn’t done yet.

Castiel seemed to give the question some thought.

“Where do you want to go, Sam?” he asked.

_Wherever Dean is,_ Sam wished mentally, knowing it was impossible.

“I don’t know," He shrugged.

“If you close your eyes and think of a place you’ve always wanted to go or to go back to. What is the place?” Castiel asked, mimicking a meditation tape he’d listened to.

Sam huffed a sigh but closed his eyes, the image of a farty donkey and one of the few fun family trips he and Dean had enjoyed with John coming to mind.

“The Grand Canyon,” Sam finally answered and Castiel gave him a nod, fastening his seat belt and putting the key in the ignition.

“Then that’s where we’ll go,” the angel decided, reversing out of the driveway.

Sam relaxed into his seat. Admittedly, it felt odd to be in a car that wasn’t the Impala, and to be riding next to someone that wasn’t Dean, but at least he wasn’t alone, he thought to himself, the idea a comforting one as he and Castiel hit the road.


	3. The Path of the Paddle

“Sam, we’re here," Castiel called, gently shaking his friend awake.

Sam peered up at him, bleary eyed. He didn’t even remember falling asleep, but he supposed he’d really needed it. That or Cas had knocked him out with his angel powers. He looked suspiciously at the angel, not certain that Castiel was above such tactics.

“Where is here?” Sam asked, looking around. It was very early in the morning. Surely it couldn’t be much past five am.

“Uh," Castiel said uncertainly, consulting his GPS. It was his newest piece of human technology and he was very proud of it.

“ _You have reached your destination,"_ the voice said as Castiel squinted at the text on the small screen.

“Marble Canyon, Arizona," he said finally.

“The Grand Canyon?” Sam said, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “We’re here?”

“That is what the voice said,” Castiel confirmed.

“Great! I’ll see if I can get us tickets on a tour!” Sam said, already half out the door.

Castiel reeled, almost wanting to pinch himself to see if this was real. Sam’s turnaround had been fast. Perhaps he was just a morning person, Castiel reasoned, getting out of the car too. Sam was already crossing the road to the Tours Office, his steps bounding, like an overgrown puppy. Castiel shook his head and followed.

The next tour was leaving at seven-thirty am and there were a few spots remaining, which Sam quickly snapped up for him and Cas – river rafting, canyon views, stargazing, hikes and waterfalls – it was a dream come true. The holiday he had loved most when he was a kid, though he would have much preferred to have gone on the trip with Dean if truth be told. He glanced over at Castiel who stood patiently, trying to wrangle snacks out of a vending machine. Sam sighed, he was being too hard on Cas. The angel was doing everything he possibly could and more. Cas wasn’t Dean and Sam shouldn’t hold that against him.

Sam went and ordered two cups of coffee for himself and Cas, handing one to the angel with a smile as he snagged a packet of salted peanuts from Castiel’s breakfast collection.

They didn’t have long to wait before a guide led them down to the water’s edge, the Colorado River sparkling in the early morning sunlight. A small group of fellow travellers were waiting for them, kitted out with heavy packs and camping gear. Sam had managed to hire a small collection of gear for himself and Cas from the tour company. But he preferred to travel light anyway. He eyed the kayaks on the bank eagerly. He couldn’t wait to hop in and start paddling down the river. He’d gone kayaking once with a friend from college and it had been one of the most fun trips he’d ever had with anyone, besides Dean.

After a talk from their tour guide on river safety which seemed to take forever and was perfectly self explanatory, they were away.

“No more than two to a kayak!” The guide called loudly, shattering the early morning silence with his loud voice.

Sam climbed into a kayak behind Castiel, smirking at the angel’s poor balance on the water. Clearly not as sure footed as Jesus, Sam thought with a chuckle, as Castiel finally sat, making the kayak rock in the water, the angel nervously gripping the sides and looking as though he’d thought better of this entire plan.

“You, in the trenchcoat! Life jacket ON!” The guide yelled and Castiel grimaced as Sam winked at him. Fluorescent orange and yellow did not suit Castiel. They made their way downriver slowly, Sam quite content to drive the kayak forward and steer, while Castiel sat up front and called out to him if they were too close to another kayak or rocks.

By early afternoon, the small group had reached the banks some way downriver, where they hauled the kayaks out of the water and prepared to eat a late lunch on the banks of the river. The guides handed out ham and cheese and egg salad sandwiches for the midday meal, as well as bottles of water to anyone who asked.

The afternoon was spent setting up camp and Sam could hardly breathe for laughing watching Castiel try to assemble a two-man tent.

“Well, that doesn’t seem right at all," he muttered, standing back from the tent he had assembled and watching as it immediately collapsed into a pile of canvas and poles.

Sam came to his rescue, showing him which poles went where and how to tap the pegs into the ground to secure the tent properly. Camping was much harder than Castiel had thought. It had been much easier to rest in the Impala without worrying about it blowing over.

Sam, Cas and the other campers spent the afternoon quietly relaxing from the morning’s exertion. It was so peaceful out here and having nothing to do brought it’s own kind of calm as they lay lazily by the river, watching the movement of the water.

The tour guides prepared a hot meal for the campers to enjoy as they sat together under the stars, marvelling at how many bright spots of starlight appeared in the sky.

“You’d never see this in the city," a nearby camper exclaimed as Sam nodded his head in agreement, hooking his arms around his knees and staring up at the star studded sky.

He wondered if Dean was up there. He hoped he was and that having the Mark hadn’t earned his brother a one-way trip to hell again. No, heaven. Definitely heaven. He had to believe that. The alternative wasn’t something he wanted to think about right now.

Sam found sleep came easily, bundled up in his warm sleeping bag, Castiel close beside him. Not sleeping, as per usual, but just keeping watch, his mere presence and protective alertness enough to send Sam into a calm sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Sam woke to a wonderful smell. A breakfast of sausages and beans being cooked by the tour guides. It was truly a luxury. After a quick breakfast, the group set off downriver again, this time headed for a place called Vasey’s Paradise. Castiel was transfixed by the cascading water in this place and the stunning hanging garden, filled with plants he had not seen or imagined in all his millennia of existence. He and Sam ventured into the Redwall Cavern, a place that had been hollowed out by the sheer power of the river and the erosion of time, as Castiel so eloquently put it.

In the afternoon, the group left their kayaks on the river bank and took to the rocky slopes to hike the canyon. Sam relished the physical exertion of it all, he’d been cooped up in the bunker too long, hiding in his grief. Castiel however, was muttering at the back of the group about his _wings_ and how walking was so tiresome. Sam smirked, the angel was so precious about a little sweat and a few blisters. He fell back to walk with his friend, the two discovering some Anasazi granaries, carved with the same runes as John Winchester’s journal. Sam regaled Castiel with the tale of the Wendigo in the woods and the siblings they had helped save. Castiel smiled. It was good to see Sam talk about Dean without being eaten alive by the pain of losing him.

They rejoined the group, as everyone returned to the riverbank around dusk to set up camp again, while the tour guides got supper in order. Tonight’s meal: barbecued chicken with tinned green beans. Though the fare was simple, it tasted like heaven after a hard day of paddling and hiking, and Sam had no trouble at all slipping into a deep sleep, where his dreams were filled with woods and m&m’s and the sound of Dean’s laugh echoing in his head as he woke to a new day.

* * *

After an early morning swim in the cool waters of the Colorado River, Sam, Cas and the other campers took to the kayaks again, but this time, it would be no smooth sailing, their guide warned them. They were headed to some of the most famous and dangerous rapids in the Grand Canyon.

Castiel decided after the Hance Rapids that he didn’t much care for this form of transportation. One minute the waters would be smooth, then they’d be catching air, shooting over the edges of rocks and fast running waters, the waves and spray of the river blinding him so he couldn’t see or breathe or speak. Meanwhile, behind him, Sam was loving it, giving a whoop of exhilaration with every jolt, bounce and crash. He was going to die here, Castiel just knew it.

After the ordeal of the Hance Rapids was over, Castiel finally felt like he could breathe normally again. But then came more rapids.

“Oh no..” Castiel muttered, dread rising, but Sam didn’t hear as their kayak entered the Horn Rapids, then the Granite Rapids, swiftly followed by the Hermit Rapids and finally the Crystal Rapids. By the end of it, Castiel was drenched, miserable and pale, his pulse hammering two-hundred beats a minute as they finally reached calm waters. The angel was the first to shore, eager to reach dry land, though he had little appetite for today’s lunch of hamburgers.

After lunch and an hour of quiet rest, during which Castiel meditated and tried to focus on his purpose for being here, _helping to heal Sam Winchester_ , he felt a little stronger. But they weren’t to return to the water for the rest of the day, for which Castiel was grateful. He wasn’t eager to see churned up hamburger being hurled from the front of the kayak. He wasn’t even sure it was allowed. Perhaps it constituted littering or pollution. He should ask Sam, he decided, but thought better of it, determined not to let Sam know it wasn’t Castel’s idea of a good time, lest it ruin the trip for his friend. The last thing Sam needed right now was an extra dose of guilt.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent hiking with the group, first to the breathtaking Elves Chasm and then to the pounding, rushing waters of Deer Creek Falls. Castiel had to admit the view was stunning, though he much preferred to admire it with his feet firmly planted on rock than from the terrifying rocking and bouncing of the kayak.

With the sun fast setting, the group returned to the riverbank to set up camp, Castiel insistent that he could set up the tent by himself while Sam chatted with a few young campers near to him in age about mundane things like movies and sports. After a dinner of Weenie Roast, they all retired to their tents, the night air swiftly becoming cold. Sam seemed to sleep easily, his muscles aching from steering through the rapids today. That had been the most crazy fun he’d had in years. Funny, it had always been Dean who was the risk taker of the two of them, yet it turned out Sam enjoyed a few thrills too, though of a different nature than ganking an entire nest of vamps solo.

When the tent Castiel had put up by himself fell down around their ears at 2am, Sam’s hysterical laughter rang through the camp for ages as he tried hard to stifle the chuckles that bubbled up from his chest.

“Leave it, Cas," he muttered, choking down a laugh as the angel went to get up to fix the _blasted tent_. “We can fix it in the morning.”

“ _You_ can," Castiel said with a huff. “I give up.”

Sam grinned as he patted the angel’s shoulder reassuringly and rolled over to go back to sleep.

* * *

The following day was far more relaxing journey-wise than the previous one had been. It was also their last day and Sam dreaded the thought of leaving this place behind and returning to the doom and gloom of the bunker. He and Cas and the other campers spent the morning exploring the tranquil pools of the Havasu Canyon, where there were no rapids, to Castiel’s everlasting relief.

After a quick lunch of noodles, it was on to the Vulcan’s Anvil – a volcanic cone in the middle of the river which heralded the arrival of the Lava Falls – the Canyon’s most notorious rapids. Thankfully, Castiel made it through, his lunch staying down throughout the ordeal. By late afternoon the group was climbing into the tour company’s helicopter, which transported them over the canyon rim to Bar Ten Ranch for a hot supper and a shower, before taking a tour bus to the airport and boarding a flight back to Marble Canyon, where Castiel had left his car.

It was late by the time they climbed back into Castiel’s Lincoln, the angel so exhausted and worn out that he allowed Sam to drive them to a nearby motel where they could sleep for the night. Castiel flopped onto the soft mattress, sighing with relief. He’d missed beds, and hot water and _driving._ He was never walking again, _never._

“Cas?” Sam said later as they both lay resting, the television droning in the background.

“Yes, Sam?” The angel asked, rolling onto his side to look at him.

“Thanks for this trip,” Sam said quietly, unable to fully express how much it had really meant to him.

Castiel’s lips twitched. “You’re very welcome," he replied.

“We should do it again,” Sam said, watching Castiel freeze with horror. “Next week maybe?”

“Uh..” Castiel stammered, rubbing the back of his neck where he was certain a bug had bit him.

“You _hated_ it!” Sam exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.

“No... I—You KNEW that?” Castiel said, sitting bolt upright.

Sam snorted. “Of course.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Castiel demanded, his blue eyes wide, a little insulted that his acting wasn’t as good as he had thought.

“Because. I...” Sam sighed. “I didn’t want to go home," he admitted, averting his eyes.

“We don’t have to," Castiel said hesitantly. “We can go anywhere you want, Sam.”

“You mean that?” Sam asked hopefully.

“Of course," Castiel said, laying back down. “Where do you want to go?”

“California, maybe?” Sam shrugged.

“Fine. California…In the morning,” Castiel said exhaustedly as Sam smiled. Cas really was the best friend they’d ever had.


	4. Food For Thought

"Are you sure about this, Sam?" Castiel asked apprehensively as they crossed the threshold of a small two bedroom house together. 

It had been a long drive from Arizona to this place in California. Sam had slept for most of the trip, while Castiel drove and kept an anxious eye on him. 

"Trust me, Cas. It's fine," Sam said with a shrug, dropping his bag on the floor and moving counter-clockwise around the room, inspecting everything with a critical eye. 

"How did you afford this house?" Cas asked, watching Sam pick up a book at random and leaf through it. 

"It was my Dad's," Sam shrugged. 

Castiel frowned in confusion. 

"I thought your parents lived in Kansas?" he asked. 

"They did," Sam sighed. "I think Dean and I stayed here once when we were kids. Dad was on a hunt. Might've been a ghoul," he said, scratching his head thoughtfully.

"But you always stay in motels," Castiel pointed out. 

"It belonged to Mom and the Campbell's first, then Dad. I found the coordinates and a note in his journal," Sam explained. "He must have stayed here when I was at Stanford. Dean said he used to come up here to keep an eye on me." 

"And he didn't tell you?" Cas said hesitantly. 

"No, Dad wasn't exactly the chatty type," Sam said, turning away. 

"Was this your room?" Castiel asked, glancing through the nearest doorway and flicking the light on. 

"Dad's," Sam said with a grimace. 

"This was mine - and Dean's," he added hastily, gesturing to a second room with a navy blue bunk bed against one wall. "Dean always called the top bunk," Sam murmured softly, tracing the  _ D.W  _ scratched into the nearest bed post. 

"I thought-- you said you didn't want to go home. But you wanted to come here - why?" Castiel asked perplexedly. 

Sam didn't answer right away, seeming to consider the question. 

"I didn't want to go home - to the bunker - because, it's just--" Sam hesitated. "It's empty and cold and I-- I see him everywhere," he admitted. 

"You don't see him here?" Castiel asked quietly, his eyes flickering to the carved initials. 

Sam swallowed hard. 

"Not in the same way. Here, I see him when he was really young. I remember hiding chocolates behind the bookshelf so Dad wouldn't find out what we spent the grocery money on. Or when we would dare each other to jump from the top bunk to the floor. Or when he would tell me ghost stories after Dad fell asleep. Here he's still…" he trailed off, seeming to be unable to think of the right word. 

"Happy?" Castiel guessed. 

"Hopeful," Sam said, a deadened look coming to his eyes. 

"Sam," Castiel said softly. 

"I can't," Sam said, shaking his head. "If I stay at the bunker, all I see, all I remember is the bad. It's Dean covered in blood. I've watched Metatron stab him in the chest a thousand times. Or I have dreams about hellhounds ripping him apart or--" he rubbed his eyes wearily. "If I stay in the bunker I-- I'll lose myself, Cas. I'll end up making a deal or I'll end up like my Dad. Just angry all the time and obsessed with revenge." 

Castiel stared at him for a moment, not knowing what to say or where to even begin. 

"The angels-- we were always told not to take revenge," Castiel said quietly. 

"Then what are you supposed to do when you're angry?" Sam asked with some amusement. 

"Angels don't get angry," Castiel replied. 

"Cas," Sam said with a smirk. "I've seen you angry." 

"I know," Castiel smiled. "Your brother was--

"A bad influence?" Sam guessed with a little smirk. 

"A good one. A human one," Castiel said with a wistful expression. 

"He was," Sam agreed, tracing Dean's initials with his fingertips, a faraway look in his eyes. 

Castiel watched him sadly, it seemed the hole Dean had left for them both would not easily be healed, if ever. 

* * *

Sam had passed into an exhausted sleep an hour ago and Castiel quietly slipped out the front door into the mid-afternoon sunshine. Sam had only been picking at his food over the last few days and the angel was starting to feel anxious about him again. 

He was determined to bring back some tasty things that would revive Sam's appetite. There were fast food joints all around and a grocery store. Surely it couldn't be too hard… 

* * *

Sam woke with a jolt, his hand automatically reaching for his pistol when he heard the front door open and then shut quietly. 

"Cas?" he called, but there was no answer. Sam sat up and peered around the edge of the door. He quickly checked each room of the house, but Castiel was gone. 

Mingled irritation and anxiety flooded him. He felt better with the angel close at hand, but Cas didn't owe him anything. He was free to come and go as he pleased. 

Castiel didn't return for almost two hours, but when he finally stumbled through the door, laden with bags of food, relief flared within Sam, and he hurried to relieve him of his bags, from which some tempting smells were rising. 

"Sorry I was gone so long," Castiel immediately apologised, looking as if he expected to be chastised for leaving Sam alone for even a minute. 

"It's fine," Sam said, waving a hand airily. 

"Did you sleep enough?" Castiel asked anxiously. 

"Some," Sam shrugged. "What is all this?" he asked, searching for a way to distract Castiel. 

"I hoped-- I mean I  _ thought  _ you might be hungry," Castiel explained, as Sam helped him unpack all the things he'd bought. 

Castiel was worried about him, Sam thought, half-tempted to roll his eyes and feeling half-guilty that he'd given him reason to worry as Castiel produced fried shrimp and a container of garlic sauce, french onion dip and crackers, a barbecued chicken, sachets of instant chicken noodle soup, a large container of coleslaw and two more of garden salad and a spiced rice dish, a tin of fruit salad, a large bucket of icecream and last but not least  _ pie.  _ Sam nearly teared up just looking at it. 

"This is great, Cas. Thanks," Sam said quietly, moving to store some of it in the fridge. 

"Will you try some? Just a little?" Castiel pleaded. 

The words  _ maybe later  _ were on the tip of Sam's tongue but the look on Castiel's face changed his mind. 

"Sure," he said with a forced smile. "If you will too," he added as an afterthought. 

"Angels don't need to eat," Castiel reminded him. 

"Or course," Sam said, shaking his head. Sometimes he forgot Cas wasn't him. He was familiar and he was family. But he wasn't Dean. 

His feelings seemed to have shown in his face however as Castiel seized the nearest container of salad and a plastic fork. 

"But I will," he promised. "We'll eat together." 

_ Together.  _ The word echoed in Sam's mind, triggering a memory. Dean's voice.  _ You and me come whatever.  _

_ Whatever  _ had come for Dean. But Cas was still here, and that was a comforting thought. He wasn't alone. 


End file.
